


Kissing Dead Girls

by Medie



Category: The Cape (2011)
Genre: Backstory, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's alive when she's anyone but her. Some days, that doesn't even hurt anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Dead Girls

**Author's Note:**

> Orwell backstory. Technically joss'd backstory at that. YAY my favorite kind.

She had a name once. She had a name and a life. A name, a life, and a _family_ , but not anymore.

It's all gone. The name erased, the life taken, and the family...

All gone.

Now, she's Orwell. Orwell and so many other aliases grown out of the bit and pieces of who she used to be. She collects them with each and every wig; building a woman and a life around each cut and colour. It's almost easy to get lost in them. It's almost to easy to hide. She's learned to slip from one name to another with just a change of clothes. Sleek skirts, swirly dresses, and a different smile to match every different name.

She comes alive behind those smiles, but only then. She's alive when she's anyone but her. Some days, that doesn't even hurt anymore. It aches instead.

"He'll figure it out, you know," she says, the warning coming out in a lazy Southern drawl. Like Aunt Georgina with her fluffy red hair and her ever present cigarette. "He's not stupid." Irish. A short, clipped delivery. Like...

She whirls away, skirt clawing at her legs, dropping the wig on the table. It will get harder. Everything does. Dodging Vince's questions was easy at first with his temper so close to the surface and his pride easily pricked. It won't stay that way.

He'll learn. He'll change. He'll start catching the way she evades the questions and dances around the looks. He'll figure it all out and she'll have to tell him. She's dreading that. A slow, creeping dread that's unforgettable for its novelty. It's the first time she's had to worry. because no one's ever gotten this close before.

Not like Vince.

"He'll figure it out."

Sometimes, she thinks she's forgotten. She can almost pretend that she was never anyone but Orwell. That Orwell was born with Chess and his first kill, birthed in blood and hate and the cries of the dying. She can start to believe there was nothing before that and that the only names she has are ones she chooses for herself.

Almost.

If not for the fact those days are followed by dark, never-ending nights. In the night, the darkness crowds in and the truth with it and there's no pretending. Not when she wakes to the echoes of gunshots and her own voice screaming in her ears.

She can't forget. Not ever. She can only pretend for a little while. She can lose herself in the skirts and smiles, but she can't ever escape. Or forget. The best that she can do is force it deep, bury her name as deeply as the girl she'd sworn it to. She can keep it from them both. Chess and the man behind him.

And maybe, if she's lucky as well as careful, she might even keep it from Vince.


End file.
